like the sunflower at the end of the season
head bowed, crying seeds of tears
into the soil around its feet
the battalion of corn, faces tanned by a summer
standing guard and displaying their holsters
filled with the ammunition for another years struggle
pumpkins never chosen by tiny hands
worn paper thin ready to sink their tokens
into the sediment for another chance at Halloween's lottery
all eyes (and ears) transfixed on me
before i wrench the tiller to life
threatening to unleash this reaper into
another attempt at immortality
No comments:
Post a Comment